The Horse and The Knight
by Dark Rose of Heaven
Summary: A serious of one-shots exploring a Hakuin/Kel relationship. I haven't decided if they're a story arc yet, so for now they're unconnected.
1. Don't Peek

_Wake Me Up _was so sad, I had to do something lighter. And then an idea occurred to me: in all my Internet-trawling, I have yet to find a Kel/Hakuin fic! I just think the Shang Horse would make a splendid partner for our partner-less lady knight. I had something a little more risque in mind when I started this, but it evolved in another direction. However, I will eventually write something more in keeping with the "Don't Peek" I have on my deviantArt account (link in my profile). For now, here's this :)._  
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><p><strong>Don't Peek<strong>

"I thought I told you not to peek!"

"Sorry, sorry! I won't do it again." Kel squeezed her eyes tightly shut, but was unable to wipe the grin off her face. Unlike most Yamanis, however, she knew Hakuin Seastone wouldn't disapprove of her openness. Being raised Shang in the secluded mountains of Maren would do that to a person.

"Don't open your eyes!"

"I _didn't_, Hakuin. Goodness."

"Just checking."

Kel kept a tight grip on his hand as the Shang Horse led her over smooth, hard-packed dirt. After so many years training in the practice courts, she knew the feel of firm earth beneath her feet without having to look. Her nostrils flared – they were entering the stables. Her guess was confirmed as a familiar voice hailed them, full of suppressed laughter.

"Well if it isn't the Horse and the Protector of the Small. What brings you two here?"

"Don't call me that," Kel snapped, adding rather superfluously, "milord."

The newcomer sighed heavily. "How long will it take for you to call me just 'Raoul,' Kel? Goddess, you haven't been my squire in five years."

"Old habits die hard, milord," she replied sweetly, earning a chuckle from her guide.

"Come on, Kel, just a little ways more," he said, tugging her hand gently.

She followed obediently, cringing inwardly as the sounds of the stables – horses moving in their stalls, hostlers pitching hay or feeding their charges, men grooming their mounts and cleaning tack – filled her ears. Raoul's presence meant they were probably in the Own's stables. That made sense, if Hakuin's surprise had anything to do with Peachblossom or Hoshi. Her interest piqued even further, Kel moved more quickly and collided into Hakuin's back.

"Sorry!" she exclaimed, catching herself without opening her eyes.

"It's okay." He let go of her hand, and then took her shoulders to position her properly. His touch was firm and very warm, and she was suddenly hyperaware of his lithe bulk at her back. Her heartbeat gave an irregular _thub-dub_, which she squelched firmly. Unfortunately, nothing could be done about the butterflies swarming in her stomach.

"All right. Open your eyes."

She obeyed, and was instantly assailed by dazzling colors. Even in the dimness of the stables, everything leapt into startling clarity and brightness after the complete darkness of closed eyes. Then she saw the tack draped over Hoshi's stall, and gasped.

It was a Yamani saddle, built for lightness and speed. Hoshi's old tack, several years old and much worn from battle, dulled in comparison where it hung on the wall behind the mare. The new saddle was trimmed with silver and blue-green jade, a precious stone found only in the islands: sea-stone, it was commonly called. A matching bridle, with braided leather reigns, already hung on the support post.

"Hakuin! It's beautiful!" she finally managed, moving forward to run her hands over the beautiful workmanship. Then she turned and glowered at him. "How much did this cost?"

A smile played around his full mouth, and his dark eyes gleamed conspiratorially. "That's for me to know and you to find out, my dear. If you must know, Raoul did assist in the shipment; but if you'll recall, I received quite a purse from the Crown for my service in the war." He shrugged blithely, and she loved him more than ever. "Your old one was getting worn, and I thought a Yamani saddle might better fit a horse with a Yamani name."

Giving in, she threw her arms around his neck. "Thank you," she whispered in Yamani. His arms tightened around her, and she felt more than heard the chuckle that rumbled in his chest.

"You're welcome, _sakura_." A feather-light kiss was placed against her hair, and then he added, "Besides, the lady knight-consort of a Shang warrior requires the proper trimmings, does she not?"

"Very true," she conceded. Leaning back slightly, she met his dancing black eyes. "The sea-stone was a clever touch."

He bowed, as much as anyone can bow when wrapped in an embrace. "Why thank you, milady," he intoned, earning himself a tweak on the ear. "Ouch! You should be nicer to your lover, lady knight."

Kel bit back a giggle and sank her fingers into his dark hair. "And by nicer, you mean…?"

"Less tweaking would be in order, I should think," he suggested, smirking at her pout. "Or something a little more suited to private chambers?"

"I should smack you for that," she muttered. But his cheeky smile was too irresistible, and instead she stood on tiptoe and kissed him as sweetly as she knew how.


	2. As Warriors Do

_These drabbles may or may not become more cohesive, part of a larger story, but for now I'm just posting them in loose conjunction with one another.  
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><p><strong>As Warriors Do<br>**

_You don't cry in Yaman_. Four-year-old Keladry of Mindelan squeezed her eyes shut and tried to keep the tears at bay. The other girls watched with a mixture of interest and disgust at the foreign girl who wore her emotions on her face. The armsmistress was gone for the moment, and there was no one to guard her against the hostile stares of her companions.

If she didn't do something soon, she was going to burst. Throwing down her practice glaive, Kel dashed from the practice courts, stumbling in her unfamiliar skirts and keeping her head down to avoid notice. She knew the back ways by now, and took them all, sticking to the shadows. Her heart was racing and her lungs aching with strain by the time she reached her sanctuary: an abandoned garden at the back of the last practice court. From here, the shouts and sounds of combat rehearsal became muted calls and thuds that were easy to ignore.

Sinking to the ground, her back to a tree, Kel wrapped herself into a ball and wept for all she was worth. It felt so good to cry! In Yaman, everything was different. She hated the constricting kimonos she had to wear, the grueling practices she had to endure, the hostility and derision of the Yamanis her age. But most of all, she hated the restriction on showing emotion. Kel was a very outspoken girl who wore her heart on her sleeve, and being forced to confine her feelings – especially at such a young age – made her miserable.

Now, huddled at the base of the tree, Kel clenched her hands shut tight and tried to stop the sobs that wracked her body. She was so concentrated on herself that she failed to realize someone else had entered the garden; until he cleared his throat.

"Ahem."

With a watery hiccup, Kel scrubbed at her cheeks furiously and peered up between the voluminous fabric of her kimono sleeves. A boy stood in front of her, though to her four-year-old eyes, he seemed like an adult. An older person might have placed him at fifteen or so. He was quite tall, with dark skin and wavy black hair. For all his youth, he was built powerfully, with lithe muscles that showed beneath the undyed weave of his training clothes. Yet in spite of his Yamani appearance, his black eyes showed kindness and a sparkle of humor.

"What do you want?" she asked, tripping over the foreign language.

The boy hesitated, and then bowed briefly Yaman-style. When he spoke, it was in smooth Common, with the roughness of a boy whose voice is changing drastically. "I'm sorry for intruding. I only wished to know why you were crying. You're not supposed to cry in Yaman," he added, almost as an afterthought. But he wasn't accusatory, just curious.

"I know," she whispered, letting her arms drop back into her lap.

Crouching on his haunches so that his face was level with hers, the boy extended his hand to shake. "I'm Hakuin. I'm studying Shang."

Kel accepted his hand reluctantly, confused by this boy who was Yamani and yet not Yamani at all. "Kel." She bit off the rest of her name stubbornly. She was not anything to this boy, for all his kindness, and she had no intention of letting him know who she was: the youngest daughter of the Tortallan ambassadors, whom the Yamani-children slandered behind closed doors in empty mimicry of their parents.

He cocked his head, clearly amused, but didn't press her. "May I ask why you're crying, Kel?"

She looked down her small, freckled nose at him. "The other girls, they hate me because I'm Tortallan. I'm just a big, clumsy foreign girl. But they're just jealous because I can use a glaive better than them."

Hakuin chuckled outright, black eyes dancing. "I believe you. Look, can you keep a secret?"

Kel regarded him warily, but nodded.

"They hate me, too, the boys I train with. They're learning how to be samurai – warriors of the noble class. I'm just a poor commoner boy training with Nariko while my Shang master travels. I'm not fit to lick the dust from their boots, or that's what they say." Hakuin smiled again, and stood. "You're right, you know. They're just jealous of us because for all we're beneath them, we're _better_."

Kel scrambled to her feet eagerly. "D'you think I'm good enough to be in Shang?"

Hakuin gave her a considering look. "You're the right age, and you're certainly big enough; but Shang prefers not to take nobility."

Before she could stop herself, a sneer crossed her face. "Why? Because you're below us?"

One eyebrow rose, and beneath the light humor still on his face, she could tell he was angry. "Nobles are more restricted than commoners are. They have fiefs, and servants, and people who look up to them to rule their lives. Besides, everyone knows nobles are too soft for Shang."

Kel felt like crying again, but instead she stomped her foot and glared. The anger licked at the pain, consuming it, and she felt better. "I am _not_ soft! Besides, how did you know I was noble?"

Hakuin shrugged. "Everyone knows about the Tortallan delegation. Why would you be here if not for that?" He sighed, and ruffled her hair. "Look, kid, I'm sorry. It's not bad that you're noble. If anything, your parents would be reluctant to send you to Shang, even if you _could_ go. Nobles always are. But Shang isn't the only option."

Kel kicked at the dirt, feeling apologetic but too proud to show it. "I don't want to be a lady."

He laughed outright. "Well, you can hardly help that. But if you're noble, you can be a knight, can't you? My master says they're allowing female knights in Tortall now."

His words sparked curiosity in her childish breast, and she finally met his eyes. "Really?"

Hakuin nodded solemnly. "Really. It's a hard life, but you certainly have the spirit for it – and the skill, if you really are as good as you say."

"Bet I could beat you with a glaive," she said before she could stop to think.

He laughed again. "Perhaps you could, at that – I've not trained with it as much as my noble peers. But they don't use glaives in Tortall, they use swords and bows very different from what you'll find here."

"Then I'll learn those, too," Kel said stubbornly, determined to show this boy she could do whatever he could do. "You could teach me."

"I almost wish I could," Hakuin said regretfully. "But I'm leaving tomorrow, with my master."

"Oh." She looked down to hide the disappointment on her face.

"Hey, now." He lifted her chin with his finger. "Don't give up so easily. Start with those girls of yours. If you can handle their teasing, you can handle anything. And just because they don't use _naginata_ in Tortall doesn't mean it won't be useful." He hit her lightly on the shoulders and upper arms. "Build these. It takes a lot of upper strength to wield a sword and shield, or a lance."

"What's a lance?" she asked.

"A long stick you use to pry men off their horses," he replied, deadpan. Then, grinning, "That's what my master says, anyway. I haven't actually been to a tournament yet to see one. But when I do, I'll be sure to let you know." He glanced at the sky, and clapped her on the shoulder again. "I have to go – and so do you, probably. Old Nariko will give you a sound lecture for leaving, but stick it out. A warrior takes the consequences of his actions – or hers," he added, smiling. "Good luck, Kel of Tortall. Maybe I'll see you someday, when you're a knight and I'm the Shang Griffin."

"Is that what you're going to be?"

"So many questions!" Hakuin threw up his hands. "I don't know, yet. I'll choose when I pass my ordeal in three years. Though you have to be the best of the best to be named after an Immortal." He bowed again, Tortallan-style this time, and waved one calloused hand. "Farewell!"

Kel lifted a shy hand in response. "Good-bye. Good luck, Griffin," she added cheekily. He just laughed and left the garden at a trot. Sighing, Kel brushed off her kimono and made for the practice courts. She knew he was right – she _would_ get an awful tirade from Nariko about her absence. But she would take whatever was dished out to her regardless. After all, she was a warrior, and warriors faced the consequences of their actions.


End file.
